


cold brew coffee

by Tyranno



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Flash Fic, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Ronan Lynch Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: Kavinsky had seemed to like that, “Hoo-lee shit,” he said, “You’re actually in love with that ken-doll prick, ain’t cha?”-this was how Ronan Lynch loved
Relationships: Richard Gansey III/Ronan Lynch
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	cold brew coffee

A week after meeting Richard Gansey III, and Ronan Lynch was utterly in love with him.

He followed Gansey everywhere. He laughed at everything he said. He jotted down every song Gansey said he liked or book he’d mentioned reading so that Ronan could look it up later and learn everything about it. Ronan developed a sudden and intense interest in Welsh kings, golfing and khaki trousers. And when Ronan went home, he would masturbate furiously to Gansey’s dimpled smile. 

At least he was self-aware enough to know how this made him look. But for the life of him, he couldn’t help it. Every time Gansey would drive by his house or tug on his shoulder at the lunchroom, Ronan’s heart would surge like something taking flight. The world slipped from its axis and began to spin around Gansey instead. 

*

This was how Ronan Lynch loved: a dog’s love. Mindless and obligatory. 

Even as his heart burned and blackened, even as a terrible anger rose in him like slow acid. Even as he fought with his brother, even as his life began to mean less and less to him, even as he took no care driving and no care with knives. It broke Gansey’s heart, and that broke Ronan’s right back. Pain kept him awake at night. 

Ronan tried very hard, for a very long time. It was like holding the world against his back, he would lock his knees and brace his forearms but eventually it would just be too much for him. His spine would snap. 

The only outlet was racing. Ronan wrapped his hands around the steering wheel and push his foot down on the accelerator and it would be like diving into the sky. He left everything behind. He didn’t do drugs but there was a point—when the adrenaline was pushed to snapping—when he could feel the car losing traction beneath him—when the sleek side of the BMW sliced so close past a tree that the wing-mirror was ripped off—

Gansey’s red thread would snare around his ankle and pull him down like a lead weight. Guilt was a burning brand. 

“I can’t die,” Ronan gasped into the space between them, “Gansey would kill me.” 

Kavinsky had rolled his head back then, easy and languidly, like he was testing every vertebrae in his neck, “Then don’t fucking die.” 

“I’m serious,” Ronan had felt the words pull at his heart on their way out, “Gansey would die.” 

Kavinsky had seemed to like that, “Hoo-lee shit,” he said, “You’re actually in love with that ken-doll prick, ain’t cha?” 

Ronan had only looked at him, eyes burning from the smoke. There was no love or sympathy in Kavinsky’s eyes then, but no judgement either. Kavinsky only looked at him as one wounded animal looks at another, sizing up the exit wounds. 

This was how Ronan Lynch loved: a bear trap around the ankle.


End file.
